Scream
by citcat299
Summary: As she ruined and mutilated her unblemished fair skin she felt a deep satisfaction. For once the pain on the outside could join the pain on the inside. Pain overriding pain. The pain kept her alive. [Be warned, this will take you for one hell of a ride!]
1. Prologue

Authors Note: (Before I begin, I would like you to please note that all poetry by me, is genuine and was not written with fanfiction or any fanfiction characters in mind. I would put my full name on it, except that my parents do not allow me to have my full name on the internet. So it is presented under the signature of citcat299. Also, someone has asked if they can use my work as a signature. The answer is yes, you can post my work anywhere you like under the condition that it MUST have my name on it somewhere, and NOBODY else's. Thankyou.)

Prologue

_The winds of the world whistle through the rusty gate,  
The green hues of the trees contrast roughly with the shiny red and yellow swing set,  
Sounds of laughter long past echo silently through the graffiti'd tunnel,  
It is empty and abandoned but not quite forgotten,  
The little old woman on a sturdy wooden rocking chair stares out the window,  
And remembers,  
Children running wearing multicoloured clothing,  
Giggling, shrieking in excitement,  
A harmless game played for the last time one sunny Saturday afternoon,  
The clomping and clattering of a playground in full swing,  
The screeching of the fireman's pole and the cries of Marco Polo,  
And a little boy wearing a bright blue shirt,  
With a blindfolded face and a beautiful smile,  
Stepping off the edge of the longest slide,  
Falling,  
Falling,  
A broken body lying on the ground,  
Tattered and stained with blood,  
A blindfold slightly askew revealing an expression of slight surprise,  
Two dark empty eyes staring into the cloudless blue sky,_

_After the ambulance took her brother away,  
A sign was nailed on the fence the next day,  
This Site had been Proclaimed Unsafe  
So the playground slowly rusted away,  
But the memories it had made still remained,  
Never forgotten, forever contained_

(The Playground, by citcat299)

-o-o-o-

Hermione ran. Ran from her life, her past, her pain. But most of all, her hate. The hate was consuming her from the inside. Sobbing, she hit the balcony hard knocking all the air out of her body, and she fumbled inside her pocket for her knife. Her release.

"_Filthy little mudblood."_

As the first drops of blood from her self mutilation dropped onto the rail and tricked to the ground she reflected through her pain and tears.

The blood was red.

Frantically she cut deeper and deeper trying to find the dirt, the dirt that according to _him_ was supposed to make her filthy, unclean. The dirt that could release her from the hate that was incinerating her soul.

The blood was pouring to the ground now, in streams that joined and turned into rivers.

It was still red.

She hated herself for doing this, she hated Harry and Ron who had turned their backs on her, but most of all she hated Malfoy, whose hate had torn her life apart and still tore chunks out of her soul. The basted that caused the never-ending cycle of hate that ripped her apart from the inside and was slowly killing her. Because she was too weak to fight it. Because she was too weak to accept it.

She watched in morbid fascination as the knife slipped out of her bloody fingers and fell to the ground. As her knees crumbled and she collapsed into the pool of her own blood, encircling her head like an impure halo, the last thing she saw before her world went black was a pair of sliver grey eyes.

Watching.

-o-o-o-


	2. Scream

Scream

_You throw them away  
Like they mean nothing to you to release them  
In a stream of daggers piercing  
And you don't care  
Nothing can break through your bastard exterior  
So you drive relentlessly on  
Pushing me forever away_

_But I'll just come back again  
Forgetting again  
Ready to be hurt again  
And you will act as though nothing has happened  
Your outside never showing the evil which dwells within  
Your words pleasing light_

_And I am cursed by your possession slowly breaking_

('Bastard', by citcat299)

-o-o-o-

White. A pristine white ceiling that seemed to sparkle in an almost unreal light. It was soothing, lulling her sore body to rest.

Hermione blinked, and the ceiling blurred before coming sharply back into focus. Was she dreaming? It felt like it. Then again, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt truly awake. Her life was a hate filled, bloody nightmare that she couldn't escape from no matter how hard she tried, she felt like she was caged and she wanted to scream and scream till she finally awoke. Till she truly woke up. A single tear trickled down her cheek and sank in the white satin pillow, leaving no trace. The memories of the previous day came flooding back.

_Malfoy sneered down at her from his position at the head of the group of 7th year Slytherins that had casually encircled her. After all, to them it was only a game. A sick game which they played on a regular basis. Nothing new._

"_I see you made a particular effort today bitch. You look even more filthy than usual, or are you just doing it for me?"_

_The Slytherins sniggered as Malfoy slid a finger down her cheek. She stood there, as still as glass, simply looking on with deadened eyes._

_She could never let him see the pain he caused her, but then she sometimes wondered how she could even feel it. Inside she was dying._

"_Filthy little mudblood."_

_Harry paused as he walked past the Slytherins after catching the desperately pleading look Hermione send him through glassy eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was thick with hatred._

"_You're right. She's dirty." Without a backwards glance, he strode into the Potions classroom, Ron at his side._

_At that point, something in Hermione truly broke._

Unconsciously, Hermione ran her fingers over the knotted scars that criss crossed her arms. Once she had started the cutting, she had been unable to stop. It was like a drug, an addiction. She was filled with so much hate and so much pain. Nobody knew, but then there was nobody left to tell. Everyone she had ever cared about was gone in one way or another. Either they were dead or she was dead to them. She was alone.

Hermione laughed bitterly. There was no point to her life anymore and sometimes she wondered why she didn't just finish it off. No one would care. It would be quick and painless and it would be an _end._ An end to all her suffering. But for some reason she still hung on. There was something inside her that just wouldn't let go, but then again her Mum had always called her a fighter.

She ran a finger over a particularly thick scar across her upper forearm. It had become a habit lately.

Her Mum and Dad were both dead, murdered in the beginning of her 7th year by Lord Voldemort. He had found out about her friendship with Harry and decided to attack her parents, hoping that if he hurt her, it would get to Harry. It was ironic really, considering that by the time he killed them, Harry had no longer been her friend.

The night she was told of their deaths was the same night she started the cutting.

She longed for the sweet sweet pain the cutting brought her, the release of her hate, her hate of everything, but mainly herself. As she ruined and mutilated her unblemished fair skin she felt a deep satisfaction. For once the pain on the outside could join the pain on the inside. Pain overriding pain.

The pain kept her alive.

-o-o-o-

"Look Albus, I don't care what you do but this has to stop. Don't you understand, if she goes on in this way she might die!" Madame Pomfry's voice broke.

"I know, but I'm afraid there's not much we can do. She's an adult now, and she has to make her own decisions."

There was a long pause.

"I can't believe it, I simply can't believe it! This girl is _killing_ herself and this is all you have to say-"

"Now is not the time to-"

Madame Pomfry's voice rose several notches.

"You know what? You're wrong Dumbledore. Now IS the time to do something. Something I should have done LONG ago. I QUIT!!!"

Hermione heard the sound of running footsteps and a door slammed.

Another set of footsteps, these ones slower and heavier, hobbled towards the bed she was lying on.

"Ms Granger?"

She turned to see Dumbledore standing, his back facing her, his head hung. His voice sounded heavy, defeated.

"I suggest you get to class."

She blinked and he was gone, the heavy hospital door swinging shut behind him. Softly.

She walked to the door in an almost dreamlike state. With every footstep hitting the cold unyielding tiles she wondered why she bothered. Her grades were still perfect, her appearance presentable. She supposed she was living in hope that life would give her something to live for. Her future was dark and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Not anymore.

As she stepped into the hallway and turned she saw something that somehow she knew she would see. Something inevitable.

Malfoy.

At once all the memories came flooding back, she stifled a cry and refused to fall to her knees. She had to be strong.

_Blood. _

_That was the only thing that seemed to be constant about the pictures splayed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Across the normal headline was a strip of jet black, accenting the menacing red words. 'Massacre at St Mungos!' _

_Hermione dropped the paper feeling sick. It was too much, all the bloodshed and horrific images that she had seen. All because of the cold blooded murderers who called themselves 'pure', while drowning themselves in the blood of innocents. The irony was not lost on her. She needed air._

_With unseeing eyes, Hermione stood up and calmly walked out of the Great Hall, into the main corridor and straight into Malfoy._

_That was when the nightmare truly began._

He took a step forward, watching, always watching.

She stepped back, the same way she had on that fateful day. The events that followed, the events that would, replayed over and over again like a broken record. She knew what happened in the next scene.

'_Malfoy', she gasped unevenly, taking a step backwards._

_He stepped towards her, smirking._

_Hate flooded her senses, empowering her, filling her with a pure black energy._

"_You. You did this, you you BASTARD!!!" _

_She leapt at him, hands outstretched, wanting him to feel something, wanting him to feel the **pain** that he had brought upon so many others. And he was ready for her. He was always ready._

_Both of his powerful arms grabbed hers and she was trapped, helpless before him._

_He whispered in her ear, "So what if I did?" then brought his lips crashing down upon hers._

_And she snapped._

_She kissed him back with ferocity and desperation, her arms around his neck, and her hands tangled in his hair as their tongues twisted together in a passionate fury._

_She needed to feel, she was burning up from the inside in solitude and fear, from the knowledge that she fought with daily, constantly, the knowledge that grew continually stronger. The knowledge that she was going to die._

_She lost her mind as the barriers she had worked so hard to erect broke, and all the feelings flooded out. All straight into the kiss._

_As her body was set ablaze with lust she lost all ability to think and she ground into him and moaned. He growled and pulled her to him as they collapsed onto the floor._

_His hand slid up her skirt and she cried out in ecstasy as his other hand roughly pulled up her school blouse. He sensuously fondled her breasts and her moans were lost in their raging mouths. _

_He pulled his hand away and used it to pull up her skirt, pulled down her underwear, rip off his pants, and tug down his boxers in a few skilled movements._

_She stared up at him with lust swamped eyes and pulled her arms tight around him, as he began to plunge in and out of her, sending them both into waves of painful pleasure._

_Harry pushed open the Great Hall doors and at that moment he, along with Ron and most of the school population, saw his best friend fucking his worst enemy, a death eater who had murdered countless people and laughed in the face of their agony._

_It was then the screaming began._

"Stay away from me," she muttered brokenly, "Stay away from me bastard."

"No." He said simply.

He backed her into a wall, effectively blocking any escape routes. She didn't know why he bothered; she was too tired to run. To tired in every way.

"I have something to say."

He covered her mouth with his hand, and leaned in close to her, silver eyes staring into brown.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

And with those two words, the world as she knew it came crashing down around her ears. How could he say that to her, how could he?

She tried to scream at him, to kick, to hurt him, to wail. But his hand was against her mouth and his body was pressed hard against hers, trapping her between him and the wall. Silent tears of hate poured down her cheeks.

Suddenly his wand was out, and aimed steadily at the point between her eyes.

"And now I have to kill you."

And Hermione was thrown into a state of calm, a surreal feeling. It all made sense now, everything was how it should be. She was ready to die; tired of living in the bloody and lonely hell that was slowly crushing her soul. She would finally be free, released. She didn't, _couldn't_, care any more. But she had one nagging need left. The need to know-

"Why?" She asked dully.

"Because I love you."

And in one moment of pure bliss Hermione had her redemption. Someone loved her. She was emancipated.

This play had a different ending.

He pressed his soft lips to hers and pulled away. She smiled.

"_Avada Kedavra_"

-o-o-o-


End file.
